


take him home and rough him up (get my hands inside him, drive my body into his)

by voxofthevoid



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [7]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Avenger Bucky Barnes, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Begging, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Consensual Violence, Dacryphilia, Dominance, M/M, Masochism, Porn With Plot, Pseudo-Hate Sex, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Sadism, Spanking, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxofthevoid/pseuds/voxofthevoid
Summary: He’s on Bucky before the laughter trails off, digging his fingers into the pretty, easily-bruised flesh of his throat. These days, Steve’s palm remembers the shape of Bucky’s neck even when they don’t see each other for months. He almost likes it.Under him, Bucky’s quiet and still, the guarded silence of a cornered predator. There’s no fear in his eyes. There never is. Steve shifts his hold so that he’s got Bucky by the scruff of his neck, warm skin and soft hair bunching under his grip. Bucky’s throat clicks when he swallows, and Steve wants to shake him until he screams.“Fuckin’ around when it’s just us two not enough for you, Barnes? You gotta drag the rest in too?”Bucky grins, wide and carefree, and Jesus, Steve wants to bite this boy bloody.-Steve, willingly trapped in a vicious cycle.





	take him home and rough him up (get my hands inside him, drive my body into his)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from “Little Beast” by Richard Siken.
> 
> This seems to have become a sprawling multi-part series with the possibility of a sequel series because I have no concept of moderation. And I honestly started out with the innocent intention of just writing some emotionally fraught porn.
> 
> Enjoy?
> 
> As always, note the tags.

Bucky’s hair is silky in Steve’s grip, soft like the pink of his lips and the long sweep of his lashes, these gentler features always at odds with the scarred muscle of his flesh and the hollow cheeks dark with stubble.

Regret flares in him sometimes, when those lips bleed red from gnawing teeth or those pretty lashes clump together with tears, but there’s something heady about it too, and that’s what swells in Steve’s chest as his fingers tighten into a fist. The pressure makes Bucky hiss, head tilted back to accommodate the unforgiving grip. His Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow, a point of vulnerability amidst straining tendons.

Steve pulls harder just to watch Bucky gasp for air, until hands both metal and flesh rise to claw at his forearm, and then he eases up, enough so that Bucky can breathe without keening low in his throat. He misses the sound the moment it’s gone, but it’s worth it for the way Bucky swears and stumbles when Steve drags him across the room by the hair. JARVIS is watching, probably, but it’s not the first time Steve got into it with Bucky in the Tower and the rest of the team has yet to knock down the door armed with misplaced concern. He figures JARVIS is used to discretion in these matters; he’s always got the impression that Stark’s AI is a person in all but form.

He slams the bedroom door without letting go of Bucky, and Bucky doesn’t try and take the chance to start a fight. He’s practically docile when Steve throws him on the bed, bouncing gently before settling on a sprawl on his back. He looks a mess, face flushed pink and hair all tangled. It was in a neat bun earlier in the evening, but Steve messed it up and now it falls wildly around his face, matching the fever-bright glow of his eyes. He’s beautiful, always is, but the refined elegance from before is gone. Steve prefers him like this, raw and familiar.

“Guess I struck a nerve,” Bucky taunts, shaping the words around a breathless laugh, and Steve’s helpless admiration is washed away in a wave of red-hot rage.

He’s on Bucky before the laughter trails off, digging his fingers into the pretty, easily-bruised flesh of his throat. These days, Steve’s palm remembers the shape of Bucky’s neck even when they don’t see each other for months. He almost likes it.

Under him, Bucky’s quiet and still, the guarded silence of a cornered predator. There’s no fear in his eyes. There never is. Steve shifts his hold so that he’s got Bucky by the scruff of his neck, warm skin and soft hair bunching under his grip. Bucky’s throat clicks when he swallows, and Steve wants to shake him until he screams.

“Fuckin’ around when it’s just us two not enough for you, Barnes? You gotta drag the rest in too?”

Bucky grins, wide and carefree, and Jesus, Steve wants to bite this boy bloody.

“That’s not fair, Cap. They don’t know shit, any of them, not even Natasha. Not my fault you’re so fucking easy to rile.”

Steve snorts, incredulous. Bucky’s expression says he knows very well that he’s spewing shit and is just waiting for Steve to call him out on it, as physically as possible. And damn if it doesn’t get him hard, like his dick has developed a Pavlovian reaction to Bucky’s brand of bullshit. He’s long since resigned himself to how Bucky behaves when it’s just the two of them and his own reactions to it. He knows it’s to fuck with him, that Bucky doesn’t believe most of what he says and the rest are just ugly truths. Knowing doesn’t make him immune.

But even that didn’t prepare him for watching Bucky pull his usual tricks in front of the rest of the Avengers, smile firmly in place as he casually joined Tony and Natasha in poking at Steve’s sex life – or lack of it. And it’s one thing to entertain Tony’s somewhat baffling beliefs about his virginity or brave Natasha’s attempts to set him up with one of Maria’s new recruits. It’s another entirely to just sit there and try not to burst a vein while listening to Bucky quip that “sexual inexperience is nothing to be ashamed of, Cap” like he hasn’t been spread out like a fucking feast on Steve’s bed – and his floor and his shower and his goddamn _walls_ – more times than he wants to think about.

A rational part of his mind, tiny and quiet whenever it comes to Bucky, points out that it’s objectively not that big a deal. The team just laughed it off like always, and only Natasha noticed how Steve’s temper flared and even she must have chalked it up to general irritability. She’s the one who cleared out the floor, herding everyone out with the kind of masterful subtlety that was as scary as it was impressive. Bucky stayed behind, smiling a strange half-smile, and Steve’s not so far gone that he can’t admit that he could have let it end there.

It’s nothing new. He usually has that option of playing the bigger man and walking away, of refusing to play the game Bucky weaves around him. He never does, and this night was no different. He doesn’t even remember getting his hands on Bucky, only that in the blink of an eye, he had one hand fisted in his shirt and the other wound in his silky soft hair.

And now they’re in Steve’s bed, and Bucky’s smirking up at him like he can see all the ugly little things Steve tries to keep buried.

“Don’t,” Steve manages to say, keeping a careful distance between their mouths instead of falling on Bucky like a wild animal. “Once is enough.”

“Or what?” Bucky says, defiant down to the quirk of his eyebrow. “What are you going to do, Captain? Hurt me?”

There’s a bit of faux fear at the end, a tremble to the syllables that goes straight to Steve’s dick. Bucky must see it, he always does, and his eyes widen, pale blues turning big and wet. His mouth parts, lower lip quivering, and _God_ , Steve wants to eat him alive. It doesn’t matter that it’s an act, that Bucky just knows which buttons to push. Steve plays right into his hands.

He shakes Bucky like he’s a disobedient puppy, fingers rough and merciless on his neck. Bucky bites his lips and bucks up like he’s trying to throw Steve off him, but it’s easy to keep him pinned. The blush on Bucky’s face has crept down his neck now, and Steve knows that if he rips off Bucky’s shirt, he’ll find his chest flushed a pretty pink, nipples hard and dark. It drives him insane with want, each and every time.

So he does, soft cotton tearing under the strength of his hands. He’s lost count of the number of shirts he’s torn off Bucky. His pre-serum self would be horrified, but that kid never knew the exquisite pleasure of watching Bucky Barnes shiver and groan at the violence hovering an inch from his skin.

 _You know I will_ , Steve wants to say. _That’s why you do this_.

He doesn’t. There are a lot of things he doesn’t say to Bucky.

He climbs off the bed, off Bucky, and pretends not to hear him whine for both their sakes. Bucky swallows the sound all too soon and raises himself up on his elbows to sneer at Steve. He’s quite the sight, torso bare but with the torn remains of his shirt clinging to them. Steve stares for a second, that’s all he’s allowed, but the sight will be burned into his mind forever, joining a million other images he has of Bucky, snapshots of their stolen time. His eidetic memory has always seemed a blessing and a curse both, and that’s never felt truer than when he has Bucky haunting his thoughts.

“Turn around,” Steve orders, prepared for a fight, but Bucky just smirks at him and obeys, deliberately provocative as arranges himself on his hands and knees.

Steve wants to fuck him, wants to open him wide and shove himself in deep until Bucky can’t breathe without feeling Steve in his throat.

Instead, he makes quick work of Bucky’s jeans. The denim considerably tougher than Bucky’s cotton shirt, but it might as well be tissue paper under Steve’s hands. Bucky groans, so quiet that Steve wouldn’t hear it if not for his enhanced senses. The sound tells him all he needs to know even without seeing the bulge tenting Bucky’s briefs. It’s rare that Bucky’s so compliant, so reactive. Steve’s used to dragging sounds out of him with rough hands and sharp teeth, and he likes it, but this is no less exquisite.

He eases Bucky’s underwear down his thighs, careful and infuriatingly slow. It gets Bucky squirming, breath hitching and muscles trembling at each brush of Steve’s fingers on his skin. Steve doesn’t touch his cock, pretty and hard where it hangs between his legs, but he wants to. He sinks his fingers into Bucky’s ass instead, breath stuttering when his fingers leave red imprints on soft, pale skin. He knows what to do, all of a sudden, the idea smoldering in his gut.

He climbs back on the bed, settling on his knees between Bucky’s legs. This would be easier if he arranged Bucky on his lap, gave him something to cling to, but Steve doesn’t want to make it easy, just wants him screaming.

“You can count, if you wish,” Steve says, just for the pleasure of seeing Bucky look over his shoulder with furrowed brows. “But I won’t stop until I damn well want to.”

The first slap is a joke, a little love tap at most, but it’s worth it to see realization dawn in Bucky’s eyes. His mouth pops open, a sweet little ‘o’ and his cheeks darken from pink to red. Steve loves how honest Bucky’s body is, skin and flesh open in a way his words never are.

He hits the same spot again, harder this time, and hisses between his teeth when it turns a violent pink. Bucky doesn’t make a sound, but he’s made of stern stuff. Steve knows how to break him down.

He doesn’t hold back after that – well, he does, but only in the way he holds back when sparring with anyone but Thor or Lady Sif. The Asgardians can take the full brunt of his strength. Humans can’t, not even Bucky and Natasha with all their skill. The closest he gets to letting loose is with Bucky, but all Steve wants is to hurt him, make him cry a little, not damage him. So his hits don’t break Bucky’s bones, but they paint his skin in vivid hues of red and pink that will darken to blue and purple by morning. Steve can just imagine it, Bucky stifling gasps each time he sits or even shifts the wrong way, and it doesn’t make him ease up, just angle his hand to cover every inch of his pretty ass.

Bucky’s not so silent anymore, little moans punched out of him with every other hit. His breath comes in loud pants, swallowed only by the sharp slap of skin on skin. Steve doesn’t keep count, but he figures it’s over twenty when Bucky’s hands buckle and he topples onto the mattress face-first. He stops for a second, smoothing his hands over reddened skin and marveling at the burning heat of them. It’s not meant to be soothing, the touch, but Bucky pushes into it anyway, the motion so minute that Steve bets he’s not even aware he’s doing it. It’s cute, and Steve can’t help but knead at the abused flesh just to hear Bucky cry out.

He gives Bucky time to settle because he’s nice like that, rhythmically squeezing his ass while he waits.

He starts on the thighs this time; Bucky has gorgeous legs, all corded muscled and creamy skin. Steve’s entranced by the marks that blooms across his flesh, reddening to match his ass. Bucky’s not quiet anymore, doesn’t even seem to be trying, and his sweet little cries make heat coil in Steve’s gut. His cock throbs, a demand that’s easily denied. He wants to thrust against the bruised flesh of Bucky’s thighs and ass, rub precome into his skin until it stings, but he pushes those needs aside, tucking them away for later.

Steve doesn’t let up until Bucky’s shouting with every hit, legs trembling like a mild breeze will make them buckle. He takes pity on him, for a given measure of pity, and shifts his attention back to Bucky’s ass. He spreads him apart with one hand, exposing his furled pink hole. It’s pretty and enticing, twitching a little like it’s begging to be filled. Steve wants to, goddamn he wants to, but he makes himself focus on the unblemished skin to the sides instead. He would tell Bucky to hold himself open except that Bucky’s obedience is mercurial at best and while this seems to a rare instant of sweet compliance, anything more complicated than moaning into the mattress seems well beyond Bucky at the moment.

That’s alright, Steve doesn’t really mind. He’s got big hands and this is one of the more pleasant things he uses them for.

He teases a little, can’t help it, tracing Bucky’s rim with a feather-light touch and pressing his thumb against the opening like he’s planning to just slip it in. It gets Bucky keening, body rolling sinuously as he tries to push back into Steve’s hand. Steve lets him, enjoying the view, but the bright red of Bucky’s ass and thighs is too damn pretty for him to stop now.

The first hit lands a little off-mark, skirting close to Bucky’s hole.

Bucky _howls_.

Steve freezes, that sound jolting down his spine like lightning. It’s wild and raw, and the rough pants echoing in the room in its wake are no less intense. Bucky’s trembling all over now, every breath a gasp or a moan, but he hasn’t spoken a word. Steve’s not satisfied.

With Bucky, he’s never satisfied, always greedy for more. It’ll ruin him one day, probably.

Steve spanks every inch of skin around Bucky’s hole until it’s red and hot and matches the rest of his ass. Bucky’s sobbing by the end, gasping wetly around sounds that want to be words but don’t quite manage. Steve eases up for a little while, peppering Bucky’s inner thighs with a few light taps, but he doesn’t hold back too long. This time, when he lands a solid slap on Bucky’s ass, the scream that’s torn out of him sounds like it’s coming right out of his soul.

Five more, laid hard and erratic on shaking thighs, and Bucky finally speaks, voice hoarse and utterly wrecked.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve pauses, leaving his hand resting gently on Bucky’s hip.

“Oh? Didn’t catch that.”

Silence for a long moment. Steve digs his fingers in, thumb splaying to brush a particularly livid mark on Bucky’s ass. He scrapes his nail along the spot, slow and painful.

“ _I’m sorry!_ ” It’s breathtaking, how Bucky screams the words, desperation thickening the syllables. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ , Steve, please.”

He wonders if Bucky knows that he calls Steve by his name only in those moments when he’s too far gone to check himself. Steve will never tell him. He hoards these times, burying them like treasure in a corner of his mind.

“Sorry for what?” Steve asks mildly. It’s funny, except how it’s not, that Bucky rarely inspires mercy in him. He’s granted mercy kills to Hydra loyalists, turned killing blows to concussions, all because a glance or a gesture or a word tugged at some chord within him. He’s hated so many of those he spared. He doesn’t understand why it’s so different with Bucky, why everything Steve wants to give him is dark and cold and serrated. It’s not that he hates Bucky. He couldn’t if he tried.

And God, he did try.

“Bucky,” Steve prompts when there’s no answer forthcoming. He has a rule – only use Bucky’s name once he utters Steve’s. He tried saying _James_ , once or twice, but Bucky has made it clear that he hates that name, it’s always Agent Barnes or Winter Solider or any of Tony’s confounding nicknames. To the others, he’s Bucky all the time. Steve doesn’t have that privilege; he thinks he gave it away in exchange for this, Bucky bare and breaking in his bed, but the thing is that it’s not a trade he agreed to. He never knew what he was bartering. And when he did, it was too late.

Steve’s lost sleep over this, but even now, he can’t say what he’d have chosen if he knew.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky repeats, softer but no less rough. He sounds drunk. “Won’t – won’t do it again. Sir, Steve, _please_.”

Steve loves it when Bucky begs, and it’s always smart to reward good behavior. He slides one hand around Bucky’s bowed body to cup his cock. It’s rock-hard and when Steve pushes his palm against the head, his skin gets smeared with slick.

“Liar,” Steve says, helplessly fond. “You don’t feel very sorry.”

Bucky’s answer is just a noise, throaty and trembling.

Steve’s not gentle when he resumes, doesn’t warm him up to it, and Bucky’s pained shriek echoes sharply in the room.

“Fuck, god, fuck, it _hurts_!” he yells, making no move to shift away from Steve’s punishing blows. “Please, I’m sorry, it hurts, Steve, _Steve_ –”

It devolves into a mantra of Steve’s name, breathless and perversely reverent. Steve doesn’t stop, not when Bucky sobs his name, not when his voice gives out and all that comes out are weak whimpers that tug at Steve’s dick.

He doesn’t stop until Bucky spills all over himself and the sheets, coming untouched with a high-pitched moan that might have been Steve’s name.

The sudden silence is unsettling, but Steve focuses on Bucky’s breathing. It’s harsh and erratic, pitiful like the shivers seizing his prone body on the bed. Steve’s gentle when he turns him over, ghosting his palms along Bucky’s skin with a reverence he’s not allowed to show.

Bucky’s gorgeous, even – especially – when he cries out feebly as his ass and thighs meet the mattress. But he doesn’t try to turn away or ease the pain, just lies there looking up at Steve with tears in his beautiful eyes. He’s a mess, face red and blotchy and lips bleeding where he’s bitten through skin. He’s the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen.

Maybe a kinder man, a better man, a man who hasn’t been slowly losing his mind to Bucky Barnes for the last three years, would stop now. He’d wrap this lovely, battered creature and whisper sweet-nothings until his eyes grow less glazed.

Steve just wants to ruin him.

It terrifies him sometimes, how he looks at Bucky’s swollen lips and flushed face and is seized by the need to flay this man open and sink his teeth into the soft, tender parts of him.

He grabs the lube instead, leaning over Bucky to get to it. He can’t help but stare at Bucky’s mouth, red and swollen. He wants so fucking badly to kiss him.

He never does. He tried once and only once.

Bucky’s open and relaxed when Steve feels his way between his thighs. The first finger earns him a sigh, low and pleased although Bucky’s come is still wet on his belly. The lines of his face are slack, almost sweet. It must hurt him to lie like this, ass and thighs flaring in pain, but he lets Steve in with soft sounds and yielding flesh.

It makes Steve gentle, for a while. He takes his time, going as slow as he dares, not taking his eyes off Bucky’s face. He’s got an arm over his face, hiding his eyes, and the metal one twitches against the sheets, grasping weakly at the fabric when Steve hits the right spots. His mouth’s open, petal pink lips parted ever so slightly. And his body’s hot on Steve’s fingers, sucking him in so sweet.

By the time’s got Bucky spread open on four fingers and gasping wetly, Steve’s cock is aching from need.

It’s worth it to slide inside in one smooth stroke, groaning helplessly at how tight Bucky clutches him. Bucky answers with a throaty whimper of his own, teeth sinking deep into his own lip. Steve wants to tug at his with his own and soothe the hurt with his tongue, but he settles for nipping the place where Bucky’s pulse thuds against his skin. It’s heady, the taste of him, sweat and musk. Steve sucks a bruise into peach-soft skin and watches with dark satisfaction as it blooms into a blood-pink bruise. Bucky clenches around him, breath stuttering, and it makes Steve press harder into him, burying that last inch deep inside Bucky.

For a moment, they both just breathe, Steve bowed over Bucky. It’s nice, intimate, and as ephemeral as it’s precious.

Eventually, Bucky makes a noise of discontent and cool metal fingers fall like a shock on Steve’s hips, gripping hard. He takes the hint, moves.

Steve fucks him with short, deep thrusts and dirty rolls of his hips, never pulling more than halfway out. It drives him a little crazy, the fever-hot grip of Bucky’s flesh and the faint sounds he can’t seem to help making. He won’t last, not after seeing Bucky writhing in pain and crying out at each hit, all for Steve. But he draws it out as long as he can, mouthing wetly against Bucky’s throat as he fucks him.

His climax takes him almost gently, building up bit by bit until it washes over him, deep and powerful. He makes a noise, swallowing Bucky’s name out of instinct more than want, and keeps grinding his hips with each pulse of his orgasm, trying to reach deeper and deeper inside Bucky until he finds the spot where their bones fuse.

Clarity descends all too soon, bringing sanity with it, and Steve almost withdraws, except that he doesn’t get more than a few inches out before he notices he’s still hard.

The serum’s a gift that keeps on giving, and sometimes, Steve is actually grateful for it.

He is, now, with Bucky so relaxed and fucked-out under him. Steve coming only seems to have mellowed him more because he doesn’t move to shove Steve off or roll away or make any of those million little things he does to let Steve know, loud and clear, that he’s no longer needed. How subtle Bucky is willing to be in showing Steve that he’s served his purpose varies from day to day, and if there’s any order to it, some unseen criteria, then Steve has failed to find it. And if he’s honest, he can admit that he doesn’t really care. He’ll take what he can get.

So he stays, breathing hard into the hollow of Bucky’s throat until the wet warmth pulsing around his cock sets his hips moving again, rolling forward almost of their own accord.

Bucky makes a sound, high and almost started, and both of his hands fly up to Steve’s shoulder, clutching hard at him. Steve rises just enough to see Bucky’s face and can’t help a desperate sound of his own at the sight that greets him. Bucky’s wide-eyed and open-mouthed, lust turning his baby blues dark and liquid. There’s need in his expression, but he looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants Steve to stop or fuck him until he screams.

Steve doesn’t stop.

And he means to be gentle again, he does, but Bucky’s so fucking pliant, hole twitching around Steve like it doesn’t know whether nor not to pull him in, and he _can’t_.

He grabs Bucky by the ass, fingers digging into hot, bruised flesh, and lifts him up for a better angle. Bucky shouts, but it’s weak and resigned, and that shouldn’t push Steve’s buttons so hard, but goddammit it does.

The next thrust makes Bucky scream, the sound so raw that Steve does it again and again, fucking into him with powerful strokes that sends fire racing through his own veins. Bucky looks like he’s burning too, twisting against the sheets and keening when it drives his body back into Steve’s hands and his cock. His eyes are wild, all pupil, and they roll back whenever Steve’s cock slides roughly against his prostate. He moans, whimpers, clawing at Steve’s chest without ever pushing him away. Fingers both flesh and metal score red lines on his skin, folding and clinging at times like Bucky just can’t help himself.

Steve has to close his eyes because watching Bucky come apart under him will push him over too fast otherwise.

He loses himself to the heat of Bucky’s body, thrusting deep and brutal, his own come slicking up the passage until each stroke echoes with wet, filthy sounds. It fills up the room, worms into Steve’s ear and down to his dick, but nothing’s sweeter than the hoarse moans and whimpers that escape Bucky, each one ringing with desperation, like Bucky can’t hold them in, can’t do anything but cry out for Steve.

He opens his eyes, needing to see Bucky, and groans at the picture he makes; face turned away, dark hair fanning over pale skin without hiding the violent flush of it. His mouth is wet, pretty noises spilling from it with climbing urgency. Steve recognizes them and flicks his eyes down. He finds Bucky at half-mast again, the tip a little wet. He almost doesn’t want to let go of Bucky’s ass to take hold of it, but he can’t resist either. Bucky’s easy to hold up with one arm, all his muscle and strength nothing to Steve. He doesn’t know if it’s the grip on his cock or the new angle that has Bucky mewling, high-pitched and hotter than anything Steve’s ever heard in his life.

He’s not nice in his attempt to hear more of it, fucking Bucky almost savagely and jerking his dick fast and sure until it’s drooling in his hand. It works, gets Bucky loud and desperate. There might be words mixed in with the noises he’s making, but they’re lost in translation, trailing off half-said into the heated air between them.

Bucky comes suddenly, bursting with a scream that has Steve shuddering and fucking him deeper. Heat stripes their bodies, and Steve leans in until their come-stained, sweat-slick torsos press filthily together. He never stops moving, hips jerking in fast, furious motions that pull out breathy pleas from Bucky’s lips.

He comes with a name unsaid on his lips and fingers carving fresh bruises into Bucky’s skin.

Afterwards, he slumps over Bucky, too drained to hold himself up. They’re a dirty mess, and Steve wants to press harder onto Bucky until their mingled scents sink deep inside their skins, never to leave.

He indulges that fantasy until Bucky makes a faint noise and goes very still. It’s startling, how quickly the pliant sweetness goes out of his body to be replaced by rigid discomfort.

Steve pushes himself up on his hands, resigned to what he’ll find. Sure enough, Bucky’s face is turned away, not hidden by his hair this time. A few strands fall on his cheek, and it _hurts_ how beautiful this boy can be.

He wants to stay, wants – wants a lot of things he can’t have and don’t bear thinking about.

He pulls out, and it takes everything he has not to kiss away the strangled moan Bucky makes when Steve’s come drips out of him. He rolls away instead, throwing his legs over the bed and giving himself only a few seconds to make sure they won’t shake before rising to his feet. This is his bedroom, and in his less pleasant moments, he thinks about making Bucky leave for a change. But they never last, and Steve doesn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he did that.

He has a sinking feeling that Bucky will.

He flees to the guest room and locks the door behind him even though he knows all too well that Bucky won’t follow him. He’ll pry himself off the bed after a few minutes, dress himself in Steve’s clothes, and leave. He won’t say a word. He won’t look for Steve. He won’t leave a note.

He’ll never return the clothes.

And Steve will lock himself in another room and pretend like he’s not listening to Bucky leave. He won’t imagine how Bucky will flinch as he pulls on his pants or how he’ll stagger like a drunk man when each step makes his bruised skin scream with pain.

Steve hates that they have a routine for this, but he doesn’t fool himself into thinking that he hates it for the right reasons. He doesn’t bother telling himself that this will be the last time either. He’s long past such lies.

It’s just that he’s long past any hope too.

Bucky doesn’t make him a better person; Steve sure as hell isn’t the hero everyone thinks he is once Bucky’s running through his veins. But this is who they are.

**Author's Note:**

> Next part will be on how the affair started.
> 
> Let me know if you liked it!


End file.
